Can't go back
by just4alaugh
Summary: Heronstairs; Will and Jem start to realise what they want and what it means. Set before Clockwork Angel. : ) (The story is better than my summary makes it sound).
1. Chapter 1

**AN** : I haven't read this series in a-g-e-s, but I was reading some cool Heronstairs stuff and was inspired. This will be a short story - maybe 5 chapters max - but I hope it's entertaining. Okay, I'll set my expectations low: I hope _one_ person is entertained by it, at least. Haha.

* * *

1

JEM.

Jem entered the dining room, careful to hold his posture steady. Even so, Charlotte looked up from the table, her large brown eyes unable to completely hide her concern. Jem met her gaze, his own eyes as silver as the surface of the moon, and just as even. He gave her a slight nod, answering her silent question.

 _Yes. I'm fine._

It was a lie, of course. But he was tired of being treated like a fragile bird, kept in a cage wrought with bars of worry and love.

He also knew, that if he were to turn his head to the left, he would see a certain blue eyed Shadowhunter studying him with an equally piercing gaze. But after the other night, he wasn't sure he was ready to face the other boy yet.

His _brother_ in arms. It was a thought that had once brought him comfort, but now merely left him queasy. Unsure. Funny how things could change.

"Jem," Henry smiled at him, his surprise worn more clearly on his face, but milder in origin. "You're feeling better?"

 _Worse, actually._ "Much," Jem lied. His health was his only indulgence when it came to deceit.

"French toast?" Henry offered, beaming at Jem's response. "Agatha made a fresh batch this morning."

"She makes a fresh batch _every_ morning," Will pointed out, voice as dry as sandpaper. "And this lot's only marginally more bearable than yesterday's… attempt."

"Will," Charlotte frowned, reprimanding him instantly. By now it had become second nature to her. "Agatha puts a lot of effort in the food she makes."

"It's really quite delicious," Jem added pleasantly, being sure to keep his eyes fixed on his own plate. And although he felt no desire to eat the delicious spread in front of him, he _forced_ himself to take a bite. For the sake of the show he was putting on, he _forced_ himself not to grimace. And then he _forced_ himself not to waste his time cursing the wretched drug his body was already whining for.

It had stolen enough time from him already.

Will made a disgruntled noise, but refrained from saying more. Jem could feel his parabatai's gaze on him though. Being uncomfortable around Will was a new feeling for Jem. One he wasn't sure he cared for.

"Well, now that everyone's here and seated," Jessamine put in, sniffing in a most displeased manner, "can you tell us what the big news you have is?" She didn't sound particularly interested in the first place, and if Jem were to hazard a guess, he supposed the lovely girl (in looks, if nothing else), merely wanted to get this meal over with, to retreat into her room. Sometimes, thinking of Jessamine alone, her thoughts haunting that dollhouse of hers, lost in the past on ideals that might not truly make her happy, made Jem feel sorry for her. He tried not to dwell on such thoughts; after all, he himself hated pity.

Once Charlotte mentioned the name 'Lightwood', Jessamine's interest flared out immediately. She did not care for Shadowhunter business.

"Benedict Lightwood has sent me a message," Charlotte informed their little group; Jessamine, Will, Jem and Henry. Sophie occasionally entered and exited the room, adding food to the table as required. "Apparently there are a few demons on the loose." She sighed. "He's heard this reported from some Downworlders, who've complained about reckless demonic activity. He requests that 'as the _current_ leaders of the Institute', we handle this little slip up. He seems to think we've really dropped the ball on this one."

Jem felt a sharp kick under the table. It came from across and to the left. From Will's direction. He still hadn't so much as glanced at the other boy, and clearly Will was getting impatient for some acknowledgement. Jem resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but otherwise ignored his parabatai. He also ignored the slight increase in the rate at which his heart beat, knowing it was due to one of two things – William, or the Yin Fen (more specifically, the lack thereof) – none of which were good.

"Surely he can't expect us to be aware of every demon portal ever made?" Jem asked, raising an eyebrow at Charlotte.

Will made a frustrated little growl that Jem chose to believe had everything to do with the situation they were currently discussing, and nothing more.

"This is Benedict," Charlotte deadpanned. "He expects me to be aware of every little pothole created on the streets of Downworld, and have them all fixed within seconds." She frowned. "Look, the truth is, I don't know how valid his claim is. He doesn't admit to having seen these demons himself – there are three, apparently – and the timing is… odd."

"Is it?" Henry asked, bemused. "Is there ever a _good_ time for a demon to cause havoc for Downworld?"

"Don't be silly Henry, of course there is," Will said, far too brightly. "It's a matter of what you would rather. For example, it would be a fine time for a demon invasion when we're about to be subjected to Jessamine's singing." The blonde girl hissed at him. "Or when _you're_ ," Will continued, unperturbed, "about to show us a new invention."

Henry blinked, his face still caught in a rueful smile due to Will's comment about Jessamine, realisation dawning a little belatedly. "Hey!" He protested, but only half heartedly. "My latest experiment –"

Charlotte was already looking exhausted, and beginning to pinch the bridge of her nose, so Jem decided to cut in. "Look, Charlotte has a point," he said. "Benedict's never been one to care about Downworlder safety before. And a routine Inquisitor visit is due soon. It's just the sort of thing he'd like to distract us with while he…"

"Plots something… naughty?" Will asked, arching an eyebrow.

Jessamine gasped and Henry spluttered, choking on his orange juice.

Jem couldn't help it. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch up in a reluctant smile. He knew Will would count this as a victory.

"Will, you can be so improper!" Jessamine complained.

"While I wouldn't use those words in particular," Charlotte gave Will a grudging nod, "you're right. I have no doubt Mr Lightwood has a few tricks up his sleeve. I need you boys to meet with him and get his version of events. Assuming you're both up for it."

But it wasn't a question for both of them, not really. It was a question for Jem.

Jem shut his eyes, for just a fraction of a second too long, before opening them and smiling. "Of course, Charlotte. At least, I know I am."

"Me too," said Will. From the corner of his eye, Jem could see Will had his arms crossed. Yet he still refused to look his parabatai in the eyes.

 _Coward,_ he reprimanded himself.

 _No, pragmatic,_ he argued back.

Charlotte nodded. "Good. Thank you. Henry and I will investigate the Downworlders who've claimed to actually have seen the demons. I'd go see Benedict myself, but on the off chance this really is a genuine case, I fear he's far less likely to start acting political and going off topic for you boys." In other words, he still didn't respect Charlotte, and Jem knew it cost the strong woman something to admit it so casually. It wasn't fair. But life rarely was.

* * *

The Lightwood manor stood tall and imposing, much like Benedict Lightwood himself. The man was lean, but intimidating, his snarl pronounced even at rest, as if his was a face more prone to fury than joy. He stood in front of them now, with his son, Gabriel, standing solemnly behind him, as though he were a stone sentinel.

Gabriel may have had the decency to be respectful to Jem, and, more miraculously, Will, in the presence of his father, but his eyes could not hide his utter disdain for the raven haired boy standing beside Jem. His green gaze _burned_. There was no other word for it.

They'd taken a carriage to the Lightwood home, and found both father and son waiting to greet them, and willing to escort the two Shadowhunters personally into their study. Although Jem had expected some resistance from Benedict in regards to information about the demons, the snide remarks about Charlotte's 'failing' leadership had been kept to a surprising minimum.

Now, Benedict was proceeding to recount the information he'd collected. His tone was bored, and his eyes were somewhat annoyed that Will and Jem, not Charlotte or Henry or someone with greater standing, had come to gather such important facts, but the information he was giving was actually useful.

"So The Black Eye was where the demons were last spotted?" Will asked, when Benedict paused.

"Yes," Benedict nodded. "As I _said_ , that was the establishment where three werewolves spotted an unusual skinned creature with horns…" And he proceeded to explain further.

Jem was leaning against an oak desk, hands placed gracefully over his cane. His face was the definition of attentive, but his mind was, he was ashamed to say, elsewhere. A lot of the information Benedict was recounting, though while helpful in terms of allowing them to nail the chronology of the recent demon sightings, wasn't that _new_ in and of itself. Much of it had already been provided to Charlotte in his earlier letter.

Jem's thoughts were left with a dangerous amount of freedom, and so they wandered to Will.

 _Will_.

Will, who had grabbed his arm, stopping him just as they were about to exit the carriage and enter the Manor. "James, are you planning on avoiding my eyes for the rest of your life, or simply for some predetermined amount of time? In which case, I'd love to know just _when_ my friend plans to get his head out of his arse, and interact with me face to face again."

Jem had looked at him then and Will's face had been startling. It wasn't that it had changed; it was the same old face, his blue eyes somewhat surprised at Jem's sudden glance, but, as usual, brighter than the ocean, his mouth set in a mischievous smirk. It was just that Jem had forgotten how… well, _good,_ his friend looked.

Or maybe he was realising it for the first time.

"It doesn't matter when _I_ decide to get my head out of my arse," Jem had said, his tone simple, his face as smooth as always. "You have yours perpetually up yours."

At that, Will had barked a laugh. "Touché," he'd chuckled, and the two of them had exited the carriage.

But they hadn't discussed the events that had occured two nights ago, and with that look, that one quick look, it had all come rushing back. And Jem knew that, right now, he should be focusing on Benedict's words, but instead he thought of Will… and of what had happened…

They had been training. It was something they always did. But unlike their usual Thursday night activity of knife throwing, they'd been sparring. It had been Jem's idea; he had been stuck inside all day, and he'd wanted to exert his whole body – not just his arm. Besides, Will was slightly better at sparring – he had more stamina – but Jem was under no illusions. With a bit of practice, he knew he could be just as good as his parabatai. It was a goal he'd quietly set for himself.

But something had happened; between one punch and the next, between Jem's attempt to kick out and Will's attempt to dodge it, he'd stumbled. Fell, and Will's instinct to steady his parabatai had kicked in. His hands had clasped Jem's shoulders, and both boys had fallen.

The mat had felt hard beneath Jem's back, momentarily knocking the air from his lungs.

"Shit," Will had laughed, simultaneously breathless and in pain. "You okay?"

He moved himself, so that he was leaning on his elbows, looking down at James. There was some distance between them. _But not much_ , Jem realised. _He's awfully close._

Although, Jem had to admit, there was nothing 'awful' about Will's proximity at all.

Jem was sure they'd been physically closer before, it was an evitable part of training, but for some reason, tonight it felt different. Or maybe things had been feeling different for a while, and Jem was only picking up on it now.

Jem nodded; a subtle dip of his chin. He tried to raise an eyebrow, but found he'd lost the capacity to be sarcastic. "Will?" he said, earnestly. He decided to ask something he'd been wondering about for a while. "You're not really drunk, are you?"

Will's blue eyes were shrouded in the shadows of his lashes. His long, distracting lashes. Jem couldn't read his expression. But his parabatai had returned earlier that evening, pretending he'd spent the afternoon getting drunk. But Jem hadn't believed it. He hadn't believed that particular lie for months now.

"James," Will said, his voice low, but not completely steady. It was a little rough, like gravel. "I _am_ drunk."

"Then William," Jem replied gently, not believing, but allowing him to keep this secret. "Maybe you should get up."

Will's eyes narrowed; his lids drooped down until his eyes were completely hooded. And instead of getting up, he slowly bent his head. Jem stiffened. And suddenly he didn't know how he could've fooled himself earlier – they'd _never_ been this close before. Not like this.

Jem gasped, a small, sharp intake of breath, as Will – as his _parabatai_ Will – placed a gentle kiss under his right clavicle. His shirt had been pulled down by the position they were in, caught in the flail of falling limbs, leaving the smooth skin of his neck and chest exposed.

Jem's first thoughts were that, one, this was a bad idea and two, that this felt good. Scarily good. Jem was just about to voice the former, when Will deepened the kiss and it was all Jem could do not to utter a sound. His mind went blank.

And then the sound of footsteps sent the dizzying jolt of reality through him.

"Will," Jem said through gritted teeth, and still it came out as a groan. But Will had heard it too – he was pulling back with a swiftness that the drunk could never possess.

Then Thomas was knocking, and entering, and laughing at the sight of the two parabatai, lying side by side on the ground, panting heavily, eyes locked firmly on the ceiling.

"Good training session?" he asked, good naturedly.

Jem had nodded, completely speechless.

He and Will hadn't said a word to each other since, and if Jem had hoped a good night's sleep could erase the incident form his mind, he was wrong. The next day, he had avoided everyone, claiming to be unwell. It hadn't been a total lie - his body had indeed been weak from the training of the previous night, and the lack of Yin Fen in his system.

But the truth was, Will had changed something between them that night. And the worst part was, it had left Jem feeling… well, excited. Like he'd discovered something new, something important.

"And that's really all I know," Benedict said now, bringing Jem's attention back to the present. "So I'd appreciate it, Mr Herondale, if you'd stop questioning me like some outlaw. Now, why don't you two do your job and actually start to _fix_ this little situation."

Will and Jem exchanged a look.

* * *

"I take it," Jem said to Will, on the carriage ride back, "we'll be heading to The Black Eye tonight?"

Will looked at him, his gaze serious. "Only if you're –"

"I swear the end of that sentence better not concern my health," Jem warned, his tone still amiable. But his eyes were wary.

"Up for a fight," Will finished smoothly. "Hopefully," he added, winking, "the establishment's name makes good on it's promise for an interesting night."

And although Jem gave his friend the usual exasperated smile his self depreciating comments warranted, he could feel that something had changed between the two of them.

Something minuscule, but vital.

 _We can't go back._


	2. Chapter 2

2.

WILL.

Will was sheathing his knives, preparing for the night ahead, when Jem entered the weapons room. Will startled, his eyes drinking in the sight of his parabatai. Jem, as elegant and silver as a wolf, but one with endless patience.

But Will was nothing if not a fine actor, and within seconds he'd schooled his features into mild surprise. "Stocking up on blades too?" he enquired, keeping his voice casual. The effort left a bitter taste in his mouth, because he couldn't remember the last time he'd had to be so controlled around Jem. _And whose fault is that?_ Will's inner voice piped up, harsh as always.

He shouldn't have kissed Jem. Not like that, not in that moment, but he hadn't been able to help himself. That was the thing; being around Jem always tampered with his self control. And occasionally – like that night – broke it.

And now, it was almost weird to behave normally around one another again; gratifying, sure, but nerve-wracking too – because now that he'd done it, now that he'd finally kissed James Carstairs, a part of him wanted nothing more than to do it again...

"I can come back later, if you'd prefer?" Jem raised an eyebrow. "You seem on edge." Despite Will's best efforts, Jem had picked up on the tenseness in Will's voice. His own tone was even, maybe even a little teasing.

Will sighed internally. He supposed he'd have to be genuine after all. "You're one to talk," he said wryly, giving Jem a sideways glance. But there was no sourness in the words; the only person he blamed for their recent awkwardness was himself.

"I know." Jem paused. "I needed time. To think."

"Of course," said Will. He was almost afraid – of all things, _afraid –_ to say the next word. "And…?"

Jem moved further into the room, closer to Will, and started looking at the assorted weapons. "And… I hope my recent actions haven't offended you," he said, his voice as honest as always.

It wasn't exactly what Will had been hoping to hear – not that he'd really been _hoping_ to hear anything in particular – but it was certainly progress. When Jem had shut himself away in his room, Will had feared the worst. He'd had absolutely no idea what was going on in the other boy's head. And then Jem had avoided him at breakfast, and the thought of never speaking to Jem _properly_ again hurt far more than he cared to admit.

So Will had reverted back to his typical antics and at the Lightwood manor, something had seemed to melt between them, some invisible layer of ice – or maybe glass – that had sprung up since that night.

He'd considered apologizing to Jem, actually addressing the incident bluntly, but he didn't really trust himself not to make matters worse. Besides, he wasn't sure where Jem stood, and an incredibly selfish part of him wondered whether… well, whether Jem hadn't minded. Whether he was interested…

 _Stop, Will._

Will clenched his hands, letting go of that train of thought with a sudden abruptness.

"No, of course not," Will said slowly, realizing Jem was waiting for a response. "I don't have any issue with you, Jem. You know that." He hesitated, and took a deep breath. Keeping his eyes fixed on the seraph blade in his hands, he blurted, "And you know that I'm sorry, right? If I've made you uncomfortable?"

Jem made a humming noise that was, predictably, in tune. But he didn't actually say anything until Will braved a glance at his face. His expression was thoughtful and sincere, and his eyes appraised Will carefully. Will swallowed.

"And _you_ do know," Jem said, haltingly, "that my issue with that night had nothing to do with being… ah, uncomfortable?"

Will raised both eyebrows at this. Did Jem even realize what it meant for Will to hear those words? Of course he did. He was Jem. He knew Will as well as anyone could claim to. And that meant…

 _Holy fucking hell._

Will couldn't stop the burst of excitement that fizzled through him.

 _Say something witty,_ Will told himself.

"Really?" He said aloud.

 _Damn it._ At least his tone was nonchalant. He decided to make a show of gathering more weapons, but he was excruciatingly aware of Jem's entire being.

His parabatai shrugged. "But there _are_ issues," he said and left it at that.

 _You have no idea,_ Will thought darkly. Will was well aware he didn't deserve him. And that _he_ didn't deserve Will's love – or the cost it came with.

Both boys continued to silently stock up for a night of demon hunting at The Black Eye. It was a pub, one Will had often passed but never actually entered.

His attention was split three ways; focused on the task at hand, focused on Jem and his physical presence (as it always was), and focused on the idea of potentially being with Jem. It was a dream, a fantasy, and now a slightly more attainable one.

He wondered if his curse would hasten Jem's death if the nature of their relationship changed. He doubted it; after all, his love for his sister had been nothing but familial and she hadn't experienced a prolonged life for it. Will looked at Jem. The other boy was examining some throwing stars. His eyes were bright, but beneath them lurked shadows. His shoulders were tight and his hair didn't look quite right – not as soft as it normally seemed.

Will frowned. He knew that lately Jem hadn't been taking as much of the drug, Yin Fen, as he should've been, and also knew better than to press him. But it was a stark reminder of the truth. Jem's health wasn't improving, and unless they found a miraculous cure, it never would.

Even one more day with Jem was a day Will wasn't willing to let go of, was a day he'd hold onto with clenched fists.

* * *

"Good luck," Charlotte wished the two parabatai, before the four of them set off on their separate ways that evening. "Remember, this is just a reconnaissance mission. Don't engage three demons at once – we'll meet in an hour right here and can plan an ambush together. Right, Henry?"

"Right," Henry nodded sagely, clapping Will on the back. "And I've made this new device – it's a net that's supposed to ensnare demons – "

"Let's keep that as a backup," Charlotte said hastily. "You only have one prototype, dear, after all." She turned Henry around and marched him down the street, shooting Will and Jem a wide eyed look that clearly got across her silent order of _not_ letting Henry deploy his latest proto-type at all costs.

While Will and Jem were going to investigate The Black Eye, Charlotte and Henry were heading off to the Dime Hand. According to the werewolves Charlotte and Henry had spoken to earlier in the day, there was a weekly black market set up in the basement of the large gambling parlor, and it would certainly be the type of affair to attract the interest of demons and other unsavory beings.

Will knew Jem wasn't sure splitting up was the best idea, but they did need to take care of the demons as fast as possible. The longer this case dragged on, the less time they'd have to prepare for the Inquisitor's visit.

"Best of luck to you too," Jem called out to the leaders of their Institute, then turned to face Will. "Ready?"

"To enter the filthiest of pubs?" Will grinned. "I was born ready."

* * *

The Black Eye was a dusty place, the floors, tables and walls all covered in a layer of grime. The patrons sat on stools or slumped around the small tables, drinks clustered around them, the strong smell of spirits mixing with the faint smell of vomit, all of it hovering in the air like a heady perfume. It was enough to make Will want to gag. His face stretched into a wide grin.

"You were born ready for _this_?" Jem asked, scrunching his nose in an endearing way.

"Home sweet home," Will winked, not really sure why he was bothering to pretend for Jem. Sometimes, he worried that even if his curse was miraculously broken, he'd never be able to go back. He'd be stuck being cruel and sarcastic. It had been too long since he'd be anything but.

Will mentally shook himself, and led the way over to two empty stools at the bar. He signaled the bartender for two glasses of whiskey, and settled himself on the grimy seat.

"Will?" Jem touched his shoulder, brow furrowed in concern. It was as if he could sense the mood of Will's thoughts, if not the content.

"I'm fine," he lied, and nudged one glass towards Jem. "We need to look the part. So here's a toast," he added, as Jem reluctantly picked up the glass, "to cheap alcohol and further toasts." Jem rolled his eyes, but clinked. He took only a sip, but Will downed his own drink.

Sure, he often pretended to be drunk, but that didn't mean he _never_ drank – on the contrary, he often did get drunk (though he liked to be alone when he was and it took a lot more than one glass of whiskey to do it) and besides, he needed to put on a show. Jem seemed to be onto his rouse.

 _You're not really drunk, are you?_ He'd asked two nights ago.

He'd been right, of course. Will had been shocked that he'd noticed – that anyone had bothered to watch him that carefully. But of course, he should have known, that if anyone _would,_ it would be Jem.

Jem tugged the collar of his shirt – black, just like his jacket and pants, just like Will's own clothes – up, his eyes scanning the room. "Pace yourself," he murmured.

Will grabbed his parabatai's wrist – if he was being honest, he was just looking for an excuse to touch the other boy – and shoved his still full glass in his hand. "You have to play the part," he reminded Jem in a low voice, indulging stupidly in the spark he felt when he brushed Jem's wrist. "And don't tug, no one can see the runes." They'd been drawn on their chests and shoulders, hidden by their clothes. No one needed to know they were Shadowhunters tonight.

Once again, Jem took a small sip, then placed the glass on the counter. He finally settled down on the remaining stool, his eyes focused on something behind Will. Will knew him well enough to know he must've spotted someone interesting. Or, more accurately, some _thing_.

"How many?" Will murmured, taking a sip of Jem's drink and signaling to the bartender for another two.

"Two," Jem replied.

"We could actually take down two," Will pointed out.

"What about the third?" Jem said. "I don't want any surprises."

"There's no one behind you," Will said. "Let's wait ten minutes. Are they just drinking at a table?" For all his talk about being excited to go to The Black Eye, Will had found it an odd choice for the demons. He'd assumed they would want to find humans – some life to devour – not drink alcohol at a bar with other shady Downworlders.

"They look like they're waiting for someone," Jem mused, meeting Will's eyes. Then he frowned slightly. His hand moved forward, gently brushing a strand of Will's hair from his forehead. Will froze. "Sorry," Jem chuckled softly. "It was bothering me." He placed his hand gracefully by his side again. The gesture had been so simple, so instinctive, and Jem seemed to have no idea just what that small bit of contact had done to Will's heart.

His traitorous heart. It should've been a block of ice by now, but no, it had to burn like fire, making his life all the more complicated for it.

Jem was once again scanning the crowd, his glance subtle but missing nothing. Their second set of drinks arrived, and Jem picked up the glass and pretended to toast Will again.

"Okay, someone else is joining them – appears to be a staff member, not a demon." Jem frowned. "They're going upstairs…"

"In places like this, there are often private rooms upstairs," Will said.

Jem raised an eyebrow. "What are you implying, Will?"

Will gave Jem the cheekiest grin he could. " _Meeting rooms_ , Carstairs, for those who want to host a private game of cards, or discuss dangerous business. Get your mind out of the gutter."

Jem rolled his eyes. "I can't believe my lack of knowledge about such establishments is actually painting me as more sinuous."

"Personally, I've felt that a little bit of sin does wonders for the complexion," Will said confidingly, and then stood up. "They're gone?"

"Gone," Jem nodded.

"What are we waiting for, then?" Will stretched his arms back, pretending to yawn, and knocked all three glasses of whiskey to the ground. The shatter of glass was music to his ears, but an alarm for the workers.

"What've you done now, lad?" growled the barkeep, motioning for the other staff member, who was now returning from the staircase, to come over to the counter. "Clean up this mess, Horace! This customer's a clumsy one."

"Calm down there, mate," Will slurred, in his best imitation of a drunkard.

"I apologize for his behavior," Jem put in, earning a startled stare from the barkeep. He shrugged, confused, and pulled Will away.

Will pretended to lean on Jem for support, and surreptitiously kicked his stool back as they left, so that it knocked over Horace. The barkeep started yelling at Horace for _his_ clumsiness too, and with the staff preoccupied with the mess, the two boys darted up the stairs.

"You shouldn't have apologized. This isn't the kind of establishment where clientele have manners," Will chuckled.

Jem elbowed him. "Which room, do you reckon?" He asked.

They were in a hallway, doors branching off on either side. Will shrugged, so Jem took one door, and Will the opposite, and both pressed their ears against the dark wood. They continued do to this at various doors until Jem signaled to Will. "This one – I hear sounds."

"Great. But we can't just walk in…" Will frowned, considering. "Are you sure it's them?"

"Move," Jem hissed, suddenly backing away from the door. He shoved Will into the nearest empty room; it turned out to be a storage cupboard. Jem closed the door and Will drew a rune on it, so that they could see out without the demons seeing in.

They watched with baited breaths as the opposite door opened and not one, not two, not three, but _six_ demons funneled out in the hallway. They were chatting and laughing, holding drinks with bloodstained hands. From the room, Will could hear some low moaning – the sickening sound cut off abruptly as the last demon ambled out and shut the door behind himself.

"Bit of the mess in there," he chuckled. "Think they'll charge us extra for that?"

"Let 'em try," retorted another.

"Six of them," Jem breathed beside Will. "Can you believe it?"

But Will didn't care. He didn't care if there were six or six hundred. Because that last demon to exit – he was the only one that mattered. He had blue skin; the blue of loneliness, of a life without love. The blue of the curse that had stained him down to his soul. The blue of freedom.

* * *

Will would've charged out in the hallway then and there if it hadn't been for Jem. As it was, the moment Will made to run out of the cupboard, to fling the door wide and pounce on that blue bastard, Jem seized him, pining his arms by his sides and moving him so that his back was flat against the wall.

" _Jem_ ," Will growled quietly, "Let me go."

Jem just shook his head, his hair tickling Will's cheek. When Will made to shove him aside anyway, Jem held him tighter, his arms like steel. Ironically, at any other time, Will would've been thrilled to be this close to Jem, their bodies pressed together like pieces of a puzzle. But tonight, he only had eyes for his blue nightmare.

 _"_ _Jem –"_

"Will," Jem breathed. His breath tickled Will's ear and caused him to, despite everything – despite the anger and hope and shock of seeing that demon again – shiver. "You go out there, you'll die."

"You don't know that," Will argued, his voice barely a whisper.

"Six of them, two of us," Jem pointed out. "We don't know if they have more nearby. And I'm…" Jem hesitated and looked at Will in the eyes as he said, ashamed, "Not as strong as I should be. Not for this."

And then it hit Will. A whole new wave of anger washed through him. "You haven't just been decreasing your Yin Fen dose," Will realized. "You _haven't been taking it at all._ "

"We can discuss it later," Jem looked away. "We need to stay silent for now."

"I'm going out there." Will glared at Jem. "You stay put." And he tried to move again. Jem held him back – but barely, and it took too much of his parabatai's strength to do it. Will wanted to scream in frustration.

"Like hell," Jem said through gritted teeth. "You go, I go."

And Will knew that was true, so he looked out at the demons. They were still milling around. He knew it was a long shot – six demons, a narrow hallway, and a room they could easily drag the two Shadowhunters into. He was more than willing to risk his life for this long shot, but he wouldn't risk Jem's.

But he still couldn't stop fighting Jem, couldn't stop trying to get free of his parabatai's grip. It was as if something was physically drawing him to that blue demon; it's face had been haunting him forever and now, by some twist of fate, he had a chance to _end it_. And then another door creaked open, and _more_ demons ambled out from a room further down – that made ten in total, and although Will wanted – _needed_ – to do something – he finally understood just how poor their situation was. The fight left him in a horrible burst. What good was being curse free if he was dead? Jem was right. If he went out there, he'd be demon food. They both would.

Jem let out a sigh of relief, waiting for a few seconds before cautiously moving back.

Will took a shuddering breath and his hand gripped Jem's shirt, fist bunching into the fabric, stopping his parabatai from moving too far. He was holding on too tightly, but he couldn't help it. His eyes were fixed on the blue demon and his heart was on fire and he needed to know Jem would still be there, as he watched his one chance at freedom slip away...

* * *

 **AN** : Always happy to hear what people think of the chapter : )

I'd just like to give an IMMENSE thank you and virtual hug to Miss Louder and Guest. Your reviews & follows made me so happy : D Yay! I'm glad you're enjoying this story Xx.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

MAGNUS.

Magnus had seen a lot in his years. He had seen leaders rise and fall, seen mundanes squabble and kill over the most pointless of reasons, seen Downworld follow suit; go from warring with Shadowhunters to accepting an unsteady peace. He had seen all sorts of horrible things and all sorts of hopeful ones. He had seen and experienced some wonderful things too.

He'd made friends the likes of which he never would have had as a boy, in his youth. Catarina Loss. Ragnor Fell. Stubborn and caring and consistent across time. He was always surprised, though pleasantly so, that he could count on them, that _they_ remained even as the years passed by.

He'd had lovers who almost put his fantasies to shame. Currently, this honor (and by no means a one-way honor) belonged to Camille Belcourt, a vampire with a beauty both undeniable and intoxicating.

And, of course, he'd also helped people. Helped Downworlders and occasionally Shadowhunters. Sometimes even mundanes. His help did not come cheaply, and was not given lightly, even when his extravagant prices could be met. It wasn't that he held back his power out of some idea of greater importance – his choosiness wasn't borne of a desire to be seen as a miraculous being, and it wasn't because he enjoyed seeing others, contrary to their convictions, beg. He only charged when he knew the rich could afford it, and he only denied when he knew his heart couldn't bear to go through with the deed. And maybe he was fickle, but if being fickle was the only impression the multitude of years had left on him as they'd passed, he considered himself a lucky man.

So it was with a fickle nature that Magnus chose to let James Carstairs into his house when the silver haired creature knocked on his door that Sunday morning. And morning was putting it graciously – it was barely five am, the sky outside still not yet lightening.

His butler, Reynolds, had knocked on the study door, knowing that Magnus hadn't retired to his room that night, and informed him a Shadowhunter with silver eyes and hair was requesting, in both a polite and insistent tone, that he speak with him. After some deliberation, Magnus had given the older man a nod.

"Send him in," he'd said.

His butler had been surprised; Magnus didn't usually take kindly to unexpected visitors, certainly not those from the Clave. Magnus himself was a little surprised too. But, he reasoned, it was all to do with the boy's timing. Jem was lucky; it was damnably early, so Magnus had yet to deal with people cluttering his day and, frankly, annoying him; his mood was still calm. Besides, Camille was gone for the weekend, and he could do with a bit of excitement.

Magnus had to admit, he was intrigued – lazily so. Of all the people to come knocking at his door, he'd sooner have expected to see William Herondale – secretive and tortured as he seemed – than James Carstairs. Quiet, elegant. Honest. Now what could _that_ boy possibly have to ask of him at such an unreasonable hour?

Due to the timing alone, Magnus suspected he wasn't here on official business and the suspicion was confirmed the moment Jem entered his study. He looked tense. His pale hands were wrapped tightly around his cane, and he was wearing a dark grey vest that did wonders in terms of bringing out the sparkle in his eyes, the shine of his hair. He was especially silver today and Magnus was under no illusions; he'd helped himself to a large dose of the drug that his body had claimed. Claimed and refused to release.

"Mr Carstairs," Magnus said politely. Jem's clothes, while flattering, were disheveled, as if he'd left his previous location in a rush. Although the black ink of the Clave stood out starkly against his skin – his slender neck, his strong hands – he wasn't in the gear they all wore with such pride.

"Mr Bane," Jem inclined his head. "You're free to call me Jem, as you know."

"And you're free to call me Magnus," Magnus replied smoothly. His lips twitched, fighting off a smile. He couldn't help it. There was something indescribably likeable about James, which is why Magnus had steered clear of the Shadowhunter. It hurt to get attached to mortals, and this boy's life was fleeting as it was.

Jem nodded, swallowing. Magnus studied him. It was a bit unnerving to see him without Will at his side, as if he were looking at an incomplete painting. He supposed this was just the byproduct of the two being as thick as thieves. But as he examined Jem more closely, he noticed the boy's hair was a mess, in complete disarray. His lips were a little _too_ puffy, and there – under his left ear, almost hidden by his hair – was a red mark. Not the type that came from a Steele, but rather the type that came from a far more… passionate source. _Well, well, Mr Carstairs,_ Magnus thought, internally amused. _What_ do _you get up to in your spare time?_

If the boy had taken a minute to check his reflection he probably would have noticed and fixed these little tells, but clearly he had been in too much of a rush to get _here_ to do so. If Magnus was still inclined to turn the Shadowhunter away before hearing his story, he certainly wasn't now.

"Magnus," Jem said, tentatively. "I need your help. Please."

"Don't you all. What for now? Official Shadowhunter business, I assume." Now he was just toying with him – there was nothing _official_ about Jem right now.

Jem frowned. "My dear Magnus, you of all people must have known the instant I set foot in here that that wasn't the case."

Magnus shrugged. "You could always lie. Try to make it _seem_ as if the Clave's backing you. It would make it nearly impossible for me to refuse your request, whatever it may be. It's what a smart Shadowhunter would do."

"And yet a smarter one would know better than to try," Jem countered easily.

Magnus smiled fully now, his eyes glinting. "You flatter me."

"I speak the truth," Jem said solemnly. "This business has nothing to do with the Clave, although it does, technically, still fall under our mandate. Somewhat." Jem hesitated and pulled out a crumpled flier from his pocket. "I want to attend this. With you."

Magnus raised an eyebrow and took the flyer. It was black, and the words that adorned it were gold and red. "It's a ball," Magnus grunted. "A rather devious little affair. I believe I know the manor house where it'll be held." Magnus looked at Jem sharply. "This language… it's not English. Are _you_ aware of the type of ball this is?"

Jem straightened his shoulders. "Yes."

"How?"

"Research. There are books on the language in the library. Took me the better part of the night, but…"

Magnus snorted. "I thought you knew better than to try lie to me," he said, his tone filled with a dry sourness. "There's no way you understand a word of the demonic language on this page. Because if you did, there is _absolutely_ no way you'd want to go, certainly not with me. You'd be running to the Clave…" Magnus's words died at the look on Jem's face. His puffy lips were pressed into a thin line, and although there was guilt on his face, there was also determination.

Magnus narrowed his eyes. A dangerous thought started forming in his head. "Where's Will?" he asked suddenly.

Jem's eyes appraised him. "Asleep," he said finally.

"Why me? Why not him?" _Why go at all?_

"I need to do this… _for_ Will," Jem admitted slowly. "Not with him."

"Right," Magnus said, pieces of the puzzle beginning to fall into place. "In exchange for the kisses?" He raised his eyebrow again as Jem's cheeks flushed the faintest pink. _Got you,_ Magnus thought.

Jem's eyes were wide, but he didn't say anything.

Magnus sighed. "I'm not judging you, Mr Carstairs – Jem. I find immortality lends itself to a perspective that those of you with mortal lives often fail to grasp."

"Which is?" Jem asked, so quietly Magnus might've imagined it. His eyes were now fixed to the ground, to his cane.

"You're bound by the rules of your time. I'm not. Rules change, and those that try and control emotions such as love, or even hate… well, _I_ am in a fortunate enough position to understand they are not rules at all. Merely primitive thoughts, a nod to the archaism of the past. In other words," he added, more gently, "I can see they're not set in stone."

Jem laughed, but without joy. Mirth was an unusual emotion to hear coming from him. "Pity that I can't take advantage of the day they're not, then." Magnus had the oddest sensation that this was the first time, in a long time, the boy had indulged in self pity. It didn't suit him.

"Who's to say you can't?"

Jem looked up at him then, finally meeting his eyes. "The clave."

"Doesn't have to know," Magnus murmured, only because he could see the thought in Jem's own mind. It was usually not his business to plant rebellious ideas in Shadowhunter's heads.

Jem shook his head, then seemed to change tack. "Will doesn't know what he wants," he said carefully. "He never looks at the world properly. He looks at it as if it's restricted to him. As if there are parts of it he _can't_ enjoy."

"And you think you're his concession? That he chooses you because you're the only option?" Magnus guessed. "I think you underestimate him."

"He shouldn't pick me because of a need to be self destructive," Jem said suddenly, and looked surprised by the confession, even as he continued. "It's better for him if he – we – don't," he finished, lamely.

Magnus, who had seen this type of fear in people before, merely tilted his head. "Your hair and neck say otherwise," he pointed out. Jem flinched. "So perhaps," he continued gently, echoing Jem's unspoken thought yet again, "what you really mean, is that it would be better for _you_."

For a moment, in the silence that followed, Magnus thought he'd gone too far, that Jem wouldn't say anything at all. But then he did. "I've gotten used to it," Jem said softly. It took Magnus a moment to understand what Jem was referring to.

 _His death,_ Magnus realized, and it was a heavy thought. Jem Carstairs, a gentle reminder of the relentless cruelty of the world.

"I've made peace with the fact. And it isn't an easy fact to make peace with. And now… Being around Will, like _that_ … He makes me want to live. Live longer, and have hope – and I can't." Jem took a deep breath. "I always used to worry it would hurt _him_ more when I left," he admitted. "But now… after last night…" Jem flushed. "I know it'll hurt me much, much more, to be without him. And I didn't expect that. It makes my future that much more... maddening." He finished by gazing at Magnus uncertainly. He looked a little shocked by the words he'd just spoken.

Magnus frowned. "Jem, I've got to say I'm surprised, though not unpleasantly so, by your forwardness. I don't suppose you're _drunk_?" He added, as an afterthought.

"No, it's… the drug," Jem said, though he didn't sound certain. "I took a bit too much last night. In very high doses, it can alter my mood. I needed stamina," he muttered, then added hastily, before Magnus could make a sly comment, "to research _this._ " He pointed at the flyer, and the reminder of the purpose of his visit seemed to clear his eyes.

Magnus pursed his lips. "Why do you want to attend this party?" He asked wearily. "Will killing thirty demons really make the prospect of … err, _leaving_ Will… more bearable?" It was the sort of reckless behavior he would never have expected of Jem. And rightly so.

"Of course not," Jem said. "There's just one I need to get." He said it with such conviction.

At this, Magnus indicated the two armchairs crouching by his now empty fire. The embers had long since burned out through the night, but there was still a bit of heat lingering around the hearth.

"Sit down. Tell me everything," Magnus ordered.

And so Jem did. "The night before last, Will and I went looking for demons that have been causing a bit of havoc in Downworld. I'm sure you've heard about it." Magnus had, indeed. He nodded. "Well, we investigated The Black Eye and found them – and then some. About ten of the creatures were using the upper rooms of the establishment for horrid practices, harming mundanes. Will and I observed the beasts leaving from a closest, hidden, and Will… I've never seen him like that before. He was desperate to get out there, desperate to throw his life away to engage the beasts in battle.

"Even for Will, such reckless behavior, without even a strategy or slightly rational thought guiding it, was out of character. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't that he cared about getting them _all_ , it was that he cared about getting one. A blue one," and Jem proceeded to describe the demon that Will had apparently been captivated by. "Will had murder in his eyes, when he gazed at it. And when I talked some sense into him, when he watched the demons disperse, it was like… all the hope left him. He was broken.

"We met up with Charlotte and Henry afterwards, who had seen their own fair share of demons in the establishment they'd been scouting. They suspect the demons have been attracted by some event. Currently the Enclave are planning a large ambush on both houses.

"But Will is worried, worried that the blue demon will be killed by someone else, though he won't admit it. I cornered him last night and…" Here Jem flushed again, "Among other things, he admitted he'd wanted to talk to that demon. But he's not thinking straight, I can see it. So I want to do this for him." Jem pointed to the flyer yet again. "I think that's why they're here."

The flyer in question advertised a demon ball. A party in which demonic folk were welcome, and the most improper of acts would ensue. The host remained anonymous. "Does the Clave know about this?" Magnus asked.

"No." Jem shrugged, unapologetic. "I found it left behind at The Black Eye when I snuck back in yesterday. I just wanted to see if there was any trace of that creature left. These parties appear to be a weekly event for the next month, and one that is exclusive to Downworlders. Once we get this demon for Will, I can - _will -_ inform the clave. But… I want to be clear. _We do get this demon for Will first._ "

"We?" Magnus enquired.

"He needs to talk to it, not for me to kill it," Jem said. "Would you be able to trap it?"

"Couldn't you burrow a Pyxis?"

"Not without drawing attention."

"And letting Charlotte know…"

"Would mean putting her in the very unpleasant position of having to choose between the Clave and between Will, and either way leave her feeling guilty."

Magnus let out a long breath. "And you don't trust young Will to keep his head if he were to attend the event himself. I can't say I blame you." Magnus paused, taking his time, thinking through what Jem was asking, what exactly his help would involve. "It might be possible… but it will be dangerous," he finally said.

"Whatever your price is, Magnus," Jem said, leaning forwards, "I'm willing to pay it."

Magnus studied the Shadowhunter in front of him, and was very aware that he could ask for literally anything right now, and the boy would do his damndest to comply. Slowly, Magnus shook his head.

"I think you both have suffered enough," he said decisively, and a little sadly. "I will help you."

* * *

Trapping the demon had been difficult, Magnus reasoned, as he placed his hands over his ears to drown out the horrendous wailing. It had taken a lot of effort and luck. But _keeping_ it trapped was proving to be more troublesome still...

"Shut up!" Magnus snapped.

"MAKE ME!" Marbas wailed.

Yesterday morning Magnus had worked with Jem to formulate a rough plan for crashing the demonic gathering. They didn't have the luxury of time to fine tune the details, because the ball itself was the very next night.

And earlier that evening, Jem had arrived discretely at Magnus's house. The two of them had taken a carriage to the outskirts of the city, and Magnus had told the coachman to drive it back without them. They'd then hiked to the abandoned manor house that was serving as the venue for this nefarious event, and hidden behind some large, thick bushes that framed the enormous garden.

It was the best position to be in, Jem had decided, because they'd be able to spy on the demons as they passed – there was only one point of entry, in the middle of the foliage that wrapped the land like a bow – and yet, even if they were discovered, wouldn't find themselves in the center of a hoard of angry demons.

It turned out, they needn't have bothered with the secrecy. The demons poured in – but so did vampires (including a few Magnus recognized from de Quincey's rather maudlin gatherings), the occasional werewolf or warlock, and, most shockingly of all, _Shadowhunters._ Jem's eyes had narrowed with surprise as no less that four Shadowhunters, their faces hidden by masks and long cloaks, but discernable thanks to the silver and black scars that traced their bare arms and hands, marks both new and long faded, ambled past, chattering excitedly.

"I didn't realize," Magnus had said, too shocked to sound sarcastic, "that the Clave was so lenient in regards to it's soldier's hobbies…"

"They're not," Jem had said, tightly.

"Unless this is a raid?" Magnus suggested.

"I… don't know." Jem didn't sound convinced. "I don't think so," he admitted.

For a moment, he had wavered, and Magnus had watched the pale Shadowhunter curiously. Would he falter – would he run after his brethren who were obviously committing a crime by attending such an event? One of the Shadowhunters had already caught the eye of a woman with black horns and four arms. She cooed with delight, giving the man – Magnus assumed he was a man, based on his height and build – a sultry glance.

But then Jem let out a breath, a sharp exhale, and pointed. "There. That's him. Coming down the drive."

Magnus followed his gaze and spotted the blue demon. And they began to enact their plan. There was a small group of demons ambling in, but the blue demon was lagging behind the others, fussing with the pinstripe suit he was in. Magnus muttered a quick incantation and the creature was very easily knocked backwards, into the shrubbery they were hiding in, as he passed.

It happened so quickly, so silently, no one else noticed a thing. There were far more raucous happenings occurring in the courtyard and within the the house itself, for anyone to bother scrutinizing the dark trees and shrubs.

"What the -?" The demon had time to splutter, still fiddling with a button than simply wouldn't close, when Jem stuffed some cloth into his mouth, and Magnus uttered a binding curse.

The blue creature went as stiff as a board.

"It'll only last for a few minutes," Magnus warned, already feeling the powerful spell sapping at his energy.

Jem nodded solemnly.

The two of them had carried the silent and stunned demon back through the shrubbery, emerging at the Western end of the house. This part of the mansion was deserted, and the stone fence nearby was a perfect canvas for Magnus to draw up a portal.

One magical transportation later, they were in his home, in his living room. Now all they had to do was keep the demon, Marbas – he'd yelled his name the moment the binding spell had worn off – _here_.

But, Magnus was beginning to realize, eyeing the demon warily as he howled and moaned, that was proving to be more difficult than anticipated. They had managed to get him into the pentagram Magnus had drawn up earlier before the binding spell had come undone, and although he was confined to it, the demon still seemed to be able to call objects in the room towards him. He kept hurling books, glasses and even a very expensive painting in Magnus's direction, occasionally aiming at Jem to mix things up.

It was very annoying, and made it difficult for Magnus to maintain his concentration. The spell, to keep the demon here and prevent it from even returning to it's homeland, was asking a lot of Magnus and he'd already performed plenty of magic that night...

Jem, for his part, was also pale and exhausted, but he did his best to keep knocking the objects out of Magnus's way.

"I don't think I can hold him all night," Magnus told Jem, as they ducked another flying book. Secretly, though, he worried the younger Shadowhunter would collapse long before he did; Jem's eyes already seemed to be losing their luster.

"I know." Jem looked grim. He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. "I'll have to get Will. But I don't want to leave you alone with it – what if it knocks you out – "

"I have a name you know!" The demon shrieked. "Oh, you have _no_ respect, do you?! I DEMAND YOU RELEASE ME."

Magnus snorted, Jem rolled his eyes and a quiet voice cut through the chaos.

"Master Bane." His butler, Reynolds, entered the study. The man was a mundane, and an old one at that. Still, he had the sight and his eyes worked perfectly fine, so Magnus _knew_ he could see Marbas in all his tantric glory. Even so, he didn't so much as blink at the scene that greeted him. Impressed with the mundane, Magnus swore to himself he would give the man a raise one of these days.

"There's someone who wishes to speak with you at the door," Reynolds continued, in a neutral tone that verged on bored. Magnus was about to snap at him to send whoever it was away, when Reynolds added, "A young Shadowhunter with black hair. He's sopping wet." He sniffed as if, out of everything that was currently going on, _that_ was the worst part.

Jem froze. "Who is it?" He asked softly, incredulously, as if he already knew.

"I believe his name is William Herondale." The butler blinked. "Says you're the only one that can help him. In fact, Master Bane, he's _demanding_ an audience right this instant."

"AND I'M _DEMANDING_ FREEDOM!" Marbas roared.

Magnus ignored the demon and exchanged a bewildered look with Jem.

Jem shrugged. "He shouldn't know I'm here…"

"Well, let's not look a gift horse in the mouth, shall we?" Magnus turned to Reynolds. "That's fine. Send Mr Herondale in."

"Right away, sir." Reynolds nodded, ducking his head just in time to avoid being smacked in the face by a teacup. Not so much as flinching, and looking slightly more bored than before, Reynolds left the room.

* * *

AN: 3rd chapter done! Only 2 more left now. ; ) Can I just say - I am SUPER excited to write the last chapter in this little series.

Thank you again to MissLouder and Guest for reviewing - your words are just so unbelievably motivating. So thank you thank you thank you! : D

And, in response to 'Guest', well, let's just say that the last chapter should more than make up for the angst that comes before it.


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